


From the Land of the Ice and Snow

by fanCAT_not_fanGIRL



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Dean Winchester, Mild Blood, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Sam Winchester, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23363533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanCAT_not_fanGIRL/pseuds/fanCAT_not_fanGIRL
Summary: Sam and Dean had almost forgotten the time that their Leviathan doubles walked the Earth. That doesn't mean that others have. And those others are out for revenge.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	1. From the Land of the Ice and Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Okie dokie here it is, chapter 1! This story will be mostly hurt Dean, but this one is kinda light on that so y'all will have to wait a bit for the next part to get your proper dose of hurt Dean :) lmk what you think

To be honest, Sam and Dean had completely forgotten. Their lives were just so full of shit, that since then, the brothers haven’t even thought about their Leviathan counterparts. What with Metatron and the Mark and Amara, the Winchesters barely had time to think, much less think about the havoc the Leviathan Sam and Dean had wreaked.

Those memories were painfully jogged when they found themselves on the receiving end of three very dangerous, very loaded guns, held by three very dangerous, very angry men in the dead of winter. Their names were Short-ass, Tall-ass, and Just Plain Old Regular Ass. Or, at least that’s what Dean called them in his head. They hadn’t properly introduced themselves since the Ass Assembly had cornered Sam and Dean outside an abandoned barn right after the brothers had finished off the vampire’s nest inside.

Caught completely unaware, Sam and Dean didn’t even have time to draw their own bloodied weapons before being surrounded by the men. The men who up until now hadn’t said a word. 

“Why?”

Dean noticed that this was spoken by Tall-ass, who although wasn’t as tall as Sam, had twice the amount of muscle on him. He was wearing a simple jacket, as if he wasn’t bothered by the feet of snow around him, nor the fast falling snowflakes that had begun to collect on the gathered men.

“I’m sorry, what?”, came Sam’s voice, probably more higher in pitch then it should have been. Dean smirked and decided he’d tease his brother about it later, when they got out of the cold and out of range of those guns.

That was the wrong move, because immediately, two out of the three guns swiveled towards him.

“What are you smirking at?” Ah. It was Short-ass who spoke this time. Dean expected his voice to be a bit more annoying and squeaky. Instead, it was gruff and l-

“Answer the question.” Oh wow, Just Plain Old Regular Ass sounded exactly like Dean had pictured; all rough and scratchy, with a hint of I’m-Better-Than-You mixed in.

He was nudged in the side by Sam, who’s concerned expression finally spurred Dean into answering.

“What did you gentlemen want the answer to? The first or the second question? And does order matter?”

Tall-ass snarled and stepped closer, hands not shaking as the gun was pressed almost up against Dean’s forehead. 

“The first.”

Dean shrugged. “Ok. Simple. Why what-“ The question had barely left his mouth when a calloused hand slapped him roughly across the face. He heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath and then a low growl of, “Stay where you are” from Short-ass, probably directed towards his brother.

Dean lifted his head up and looked into Tall-ass’s rage filled face. Heaving a sigh, Dean went to ask the question again. “Why what?” This earned him yet another slap to the face, this one harder.

“You know what, you bastard.” Tall-ass snarled as Dean brought his head back up for the second time. “Don’t play dumb. You know what you did, and we just want to know why.”

Dean and Sam exchanged glances, making sure the other also didn’t have a clue on what was going on. This obviously did not bode well with the Ass Assembly. This time, it was both Winchesters who got not slaps, but punches in the face.

“Listen, fellas.” Dean groaned and brought his hand to his mouth, which then came back bloody. He continued. “We have no idea what you’re going on about, so we’d be much obliged if you either told us, or let us go. Not necessarily in that order.” Just Plain Old Regular Ass’s glare could have melted the skin off of Dean’s bones.

“Alright. You wanna play stupid? Let’s play," snarled Tall-ass. “What we want to know is what you boys were doing in 2011. Surely not shooting up any banks, by any chance? Or I doubt either of you so happened to be in Manitoc, Wisconsin in a cafe?”

Oh. The snow was falling faster now.

“Or are you gonna tell us that this was all a big misunderstanding. That you and your brother hadn’t marched into that bank and killed everyone there, including my daughter? Or his son?” A gesture towards Short-ass. “Or in the cafe, it wasn’t his nephew that was forced to videotape you psycho’s on your killing spree?” Another gesture, this one towards Regular Ass.

It slowly dawned on the brothers what these men wanted. Revenge. On the Leviathan Winchesters. Too bad they were already dead, leaving the real Sam and Dean to pay the price. And it wasn’t like the brothers had any logical explanation to this that the Ass Assembly would believe. "Hi, yes, those people that shot up your relatives were not us, but monsters from Purgatory that were accidentally released by our angel friend, and can shape shift and turn into people and they’re trying to frame us. Have a great day!"

Dean’s thoughts were racing, trying to find a way to get them out of here. Safely. The only thing he could come up with at the moment was the need to stall for time. Yes. That’s it. That would give him time to think.

“How did you find us?” Not the best question he could come up with, but it would have to do.

Tall-ass laughed, loudly and darkly. His eyes shone with malice.

“Oh boys, we’ve been tracking you for months now. I can’t believe you didn’t catch on. I guess you're dumber than you look.” Dean bristled, and Tall-ass continued, “Watching your every move. Trailing you as you went to bars and rented motel rooms and drunk beer as if you haven’t destroyed dozens of families.” The last part was said in a guttural growl.

Short-ass and Just Plain Old Regular Ass nodded along, their looks just as murderous as their partners’.

“What do you want?” The question came from Sam. 

“Oh that’s simple. We want you dead. But first, we want to make you suffer. Suffer for what you did to all of us.” Short-ass spoke up now and stepped forward.

Just as Dean had expected, Sam started with his ‘let’s all be friends’ speech, but the Ass Assembly wasn’t having any of that.

“That means killing one of you now.” 

Sam immediately stopped talking as both boys froze.

“We’ve seen what you two can do together, so it’s best to limit the possibilities of survival. The only question is, which one do we kill first?”

Dean started unconsciously inching towards his brother, who from a sideways glance was doing the same.

Regular Ass’s turn to talk. “I say we kill the short one now. He has a mouth on him.” Dean shot him a glare and stuck out his tongue. Regular Ass glowered back.

Tall-ass looked like he was about to agree, but then his face scrunched up like he was thinking. “Nah. I think we should kill the lanky one. His brother seems very protective of him.” As an afterthought he added, “That way, we can watch as the tough one slowly breaks.”

Short-ass looked as if he was deciding between the two. Then he smiled and shrugged. 

“Ah, what the hell. Lanky one it is.”

Then the three men leveled their guns at Sam and fired.


	2. From the Land of the Ice and Snow: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in Sam's perspective. Sorry for the cliffhanger. Not really. Mwa ha ha >:D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter twooooo is here! Can anyone guess what chapter three will be called??

Sam closed his eyes and waited for the impact. It came, but not as forcefully as he expected. In fact, it came from his side, sending him sprawling onto the snowy ground. He braced himself and waited for the pain in his chest to come. He'd been shot before, and every single time it hurt like a son of a bitch. Only, the pain didn't come. Not this time. Instead, there was a loud string of curses released by the men, and a grunt of pain that sounded oh so familiar to Sam. His eyes flew open. And stared.

Dean was already falling to his knees, shirt beginning to stain red from the unwanted new holes in his body. Sam didn't know how many bullets had hit, and he didn't care. Dean had managed to push Sam out of harm's way, again. Again, and Sam should have stopped him. Again, and Sam did so little to deserve his brother's undying love and trust. Again, all Sam brought his brother was pain.

A cry was ripped from his throat as he lunged forward to catch Dean, who was collapsing into his arms.

"Dean, hey Dean. Stay with me, man. Hey, hey, hey, don't go yet-"

Dean's eyes started to glaze over and he let out a small gasp of pain as his shoulder came in contact with Sam's supporting hands. So that makes two bullets that hit, thought Sam, glancing over his brother's body. One in the shoulder and one in the stomach. The third had missed. Thank god. Dean would be fine. Dean would make it. Sam just had to get the bullets out of his body and stitch up the wounds. He could do that. He had to.

But then there were arms on his shoulders and arms, pulling him back. Away from the blood that was slowly spreading on the ground. Away from his brother. Sam fought tooth and nail to get back to Dean, who was already crumbling to the cold snowy ground without Sam's support.

"Sammy-" It was said as a whisper, but Sam heard. Sam heard everything his brother had to say. Always. It was in his eyes, too. The eyes that were both asking Sam to stay, but pleading with him to go and leave Dean there.

"Let me go!" Sam was snarling and growling and trying to break free from his captors, but there were too many hands on him, all over him; tying his wrists behind his back and binding his ankles together.

"Dean! Dean just keep breathing, man! I'll come back for you! I promise!"

_Please stay alive until I get back. Please please please._

********

It took Sam ten minutes to convince the men that they broke him.

Once they had loaded his bound form into the backseat of their car, putting the tall muscular one in the back with him, they started driving through the fast falling snow and the howling wind north. Away from the barn. Away from Dean.

It wasn't hard. All he had to do was let the tightly held back tears flow. And occasionally release a small whimper. Nothing he couldn't handle. Not when it was so easy to close his eyes and scream at the world for doing this to his brother.

Ten minutes of agonizing waiting and hoping. Waiting for them to believe his not all that fake act. Hoping that Dean was still alive. Ten minutes passed and Sam was done waiting.

"Pull over."

Short-ass, who was driving, leered at the younger Winchester in the rear view mirror.

"If you think for one second that I'm gonna stop this car-"

"I'm gonna throw up..."

"Shit!"

The car immediately screeched to a halt and Sam stumbled out, retching into the snow. He felt the tall man walk up behind him. Sam raised his hand and weakly gestured for something to wipe his mouth with. The tall man growled with exasperation and reached into his pocket to pull out a used napkin. He sighed and bent over to give it to Sam.

Sam, who then locked his arm around the man's throat and ripped the gun out of the tall man's grip. He pressed it to the man's temple, cocking it. The short man and the other one were out of the car now, both pointing their guns at Sam.

"You make a move on me, I'll shoot him."

Neither of the men wavered.

"Put the guns down. Now."

They lowered their weapons.

"Slide them over."

A hesitation.

"Do it!" Sam yelled, already aching and impatient to get back to Dean.

Two loaded guns skidded across the icy ground and came to a stop at Sam's feet. Keeping the gun he was holding pressed against the man's head, Sam slowly bent down and picked the other two up. He pushed one of them into the tall one's back; a signal to start walking. He led him between the other two men, who at this point could have exploded from a single touch.

"Your brother is dead."

This came from the short one. A whisper. He was drilling holes into Sam with his eyes, and didn't back down when Sam turned his glare onto him.

"He's been shot. Twice. It's the middle of the winter, and the snow's falling fast."

In one swift move, Sam brought the butt of the gun down on his head, knocking him out. Then the other one, then the tall one. Sam checked the car to make sure that the key was still in the ignition. Opening the trunk, he smiled grimly when he found duct tape. It would have to do.

Three minutes later, (that made sixteen minutes in total. Sam was counting.), the men were taped up and laid on the side of the road. Sam would deal with them later.

The tires screeched as Sam turned the car around and floored the pedal. His knuckles were turning white now, white like the snow that was falling too fast for Sam's liking. Dean would freeze if Sam didn't get to him soon. Freeze or bleed out. Unless he did so already.

No. There was no way Sam would let himself be late. He had to make it in time. He had to. Because if he didn't, Sam would be lost. Lost and alone and a complete failure.

Twenty four minutes. He saw the barn coming up on his right. It had been twenty four minutes since Dean got shot. Since a screaming and thrashing Sam had been separated from his freezing, bleeding brother.

Sam froze.

His brother who wasn't lying in front of the barn where Sam left him.

Dean was gone.


	3. Midnight Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Dean's POV!

The first thing that Dean noticed when he regained consciousness was that everything hurt. Especially his stomach and right shoulder. They were burning and stinging and Dean tried to get up but the pain lanced through his body and his vision went white. Which brought him to the second thing that he noticed. Everything around him was white, and he was cold. So very very cold. His back was cold and his sides were cold and when he stared up into the sky his face was cold.

But it was the third thing Dean noticed that fueled him to disregard the first two and make a move to get up again. Sam was gone. Kidnapped by the psychopaths that had shot Dean and wanted revenge on the Winchesters. The psychopaths that had plans to hurt Sam. 'Make him break'. And there was no way in hell that Dean was going to let that happen. Not to his Sam.

Dean let out a grunt of pain as he propped his left arm under him, then his right. The pain came again, stronger this time, but Dean gritted his teeth and pulled himself to his feet. The ground seemed to rock and sway beneath him, and he took one step before stumbling to his knees. Dean huffed a breath before trying again. And again. His vision swam and came in and out of focus, making him nauseous.

The Impala. He had to get to the Impala. He's driven while being shot before, and he could do it again. He would do it again. Because those men had Sam and who knew what they were doing to him now. He could hurt, or worse, dead. Dean steeled himself against those thoughts and focused on getting to the Impala. Finally his bloodied hands found her black shape in the storm of white swirling around him. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cursed to himself as he glanced down at the slashed tires of his beloved car. "I'm sorry, baby." He mumbled to her, patting her roof and leaving a bloody mark on the white snow covering the Impala. He would have to walk. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious for, but hopefully it wasn't for too long. They'd have had to have at least a five minute head start, but there was no way that Dean would be able to make it with two bullets lodged in his shoulder and stomach. With a grim smile, Dean reached into his pocket and found that his keys were still there. He unlocked the trunk of the Impala and grabbed the first aid kit that the Winchesters used for emergencies like this. Except usually it would be Sam stitching his brother back up, not Dean doing it himself.

But it's happened before, it'll happen again.

With practiced but shaking hands, Dean removed the bullets with minimum outcries of pain. For the first time Dean thanked the freezing wind and snow around him, as they had made him almost completely numb from the cold. Dean made a split second decision and simply tied two pieces of cloth around the bullet wounds. He didn't have time to bandage them properly. Not when Sam was in danger.

Still dripping blood from his hands and wounds, Dean made his way to the road, stumbling every few steps. The wind had picked up now, and Dean found himself pushed to his knees more times than he could count. He finally made it to the road, where the fast falling snow had almost covered the car tracks. Almost. Dean could still make out the faint indents in the snow from the Ass Assembly's car.

Gritting his teeth against the pain all over his body, Dean set off on the road, following the car tracks. Surprisingly, the wind had died down for once since Dean woke up. And he had to admit, everything was so peaceful without the howling. The trees were covered with blankets of white, and the frozen water on their branches looked like crystals. Dean firmly decided that if he ever got out of this alive, he and Sam had to go back here and take a walk. Without the wind everything looked picturesque. Dean could hear every snowflake hit the ground, could feel as the snow fell around him.

And then his foot slipped and the snow wasn't the only thing that was falling. Down, down, down, Dean went, rolling down the slope off the road and into the snow. He cursed himself for not realizing that there was an immediate hill going downward on each side of the road. And of course, like an idiot, Dean had chosen to walk on the side of the road, too close to the slope.

It took Dean a second to realize that he was lying face first in the snow, so with a painful groan he turned over. And stared. The view from where he was laying on his back was breathtaking. The overhanging branches gleamed and shimmered in the moonlight, which was so bright that it looked more like a sun. Hah. Dean thought to himself. A midnight sun. He tried getting up, but found that he couldn't. Everything hurt. His head, his stomach, his shoulder, his legs. He should just stay here. Sam would come for him. He always did. And while Dean would wait, he could marvel at the soft falling snow and the trees and the crystals. Maybe he could just close his eyes and sleep. Sam wouldn't mind. All he had to do was close his eyes. After all, he was so tired. So very tired and everything around him was just so pretty-

The sound of a motor jolted Dean out of his thoughts. A car. Dean was sure of it. A car just drove down the road. He couldn't tell from which direction it came or where it was going, but it snapped Dean back to his senses. Sam. He needed to get to Sam. Growling and grunting Dean clambered back to his feet. And looked down. Where he was laying was a pool of blood. Bright red against the white snow. Like a flower. Dean was sure somewhere, someone would have looked at it and made a poem, but he sure wasn't going to right now. Because he had a job. Sam. Protect Sam.

Dean gritted his teeth and started walking. And stopped. The snow was falling fast, so fast now. And the wind had suddenly picked up. And Dean couldn't see a few feet in front of him. And the trees. Dean turned in a full circle. They all looked the same. All black against the white. But he had to keep moving. Or he'd freeze. Or he'd never find Sam. So Dean chose a direction and set off. It turned out that trudging through inches of snow was much harder than walking on the road. It was softer. Soft like snowflakes. Soft like pillows and beds and all Dean wanted to do was collapse here and fall asleep because all looked so soft.

But no. Sam. Sam needed him. And Dean Winchester wasn't someone that chose himself over others. He put Sam first. He's done it before, he'd do it again. He'd always do it.

_I'm coming, Sam, I promise._

"Dean!" The sound echoed through the woods. It bounced off of every tree, every crystal, every snowflake. But it couldn't be possible. Sam was gone. Sam was gone and Dean needed to save him. So he kept walking. Only the snow under his feet wasn't as soft as it was before. Dean looked down. Instead of being greeted by a white glimmer, he was faced with an icy blue hue. One that was splintering and making noises that sounded far too much like ice to Dean's liking.

"Dean!" This time it sounded closer, and Dean raised his head. And saw Sam, sprinting through the trees, whipping his head in every direction, looking for his brother. The wind was still blowing and howling and pulling, and Dean realized that Sam couldn't see him. Not yet.

"Sammy?" Dean found that he couldn't speak above a whisper, but somehow by some miracle Sam's head snapped towards him and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of his bloodied brother. The look of relief was replaced with horror as another crack split the air and the splintering lines under Dean grew and grew and grew. Sam was running now, running faster than Dean thought was possible, but they both knew he wouldn't make it.

Dean heard a sound like a whip and someone screaming his name, and then in a world of white, Dean was swallowed by the dark.


	4. Hot Springs Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter in Sam's POV again. Enjoy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this took me wayy longer than I thought it would. I've been like super busy with It's Not You and sorta might have forgotten this one?? oops??  
> But now this fic is finished and can finally stop glaring at me while I'm writing my other fics so yay for that!  
> And this last chapter turned out to be lengthier than I thought it would be  
> oops again

It took Sam less than a minute to figure out what happened to his brother.

Overcoming his initial gut-wrenching panic at the empty space in front of the barn, he cleared his head and focused on finding Dean. The bright red blood was bright against the white snow, and Sam thanked whoever was listening that the trees right above the barn had limited the amount of snow that otherwise would have covered the stains. He followed the blood trail up up up the road, until he got to the Impala. Sam grimaced as he saw the bloody hand prints on the roof and sides of the car. Brushing away the snow piled on the windows, Sam pressed his face to the glass and peered inside, hoping but already knowing that Dean wouldn't have dragged himself all the way to the Impala to get warm. Not if Dean thought that Sam was in danger. No, knowing Dean, he wouldn't have let himself get a moment's worth of rest before staggering off into the whirlwind of snow in search of Sam.

Cursing his brother, who by the looks of the first aid kit and bloody rags strewn around the trunk of the car had actually managed to remove the bullets from his body, Sam realized that Dean's plan had been to walk until he got to Sam. But that was impossible. Sam would have seen Dean on the road. Unless the snow was falling too quickly. Unless something had happened to Dean along the way. Cursing louder, Sam took off at a jog back to the car he stole- no, borrowed, from the men. It roared to life, too loud in the still silence surrounding him.

Sam wanted to speed down the road, yelling out for his brother, but fought his every instinct to do so. He might miss something that way. A footprint. A bloodstain. A small, seemingly insignificant thing that could save his brother's life. So Sam grit his teeth and drove slow, whipping his head from left to right, looking for something, anything, that could help him.

Even then, he almost missed it. The slightest depression in one of the growing snowdrifts by the road. At first, Sam drove right by, but then with a screech of tires he put the car in reverse and scrutinized the snow. He couldn't take the chance of driving off without knowing for sure, and he clambered out of the car and walked around. Sam froze. There was a faint trail of red splotches leading up to the slope, and then they got to the indent and vanished. Fearing the worst, Sam swallowed thickly and looked over the side of the road. Down, down, down, went the hill, and what spurred Sam into motion was the glaring red stain on the snow at the bottom.

He launched himself at the car and grabbed the flashlight in the passenger's seat, then wrapped his jacket around himself and started down the slope. The wind had obviously picked up, and Sam's teeth were chattering as he finally and painstakingly made it to the foot of the hill. If he was this cold already, only being outside for a few minutes, he couldn't imagine how Dean was still functioning. Unless he wasn't. Because looking at the Dean shaped indent in the snow and seeing the blood smeared in a flower shape around it, Sam knew that Dean had lost a lot of blood. He clearly hadn't made sure to bandage his wounds properly, more than likely being too busy worrying about Sam than caring about his own well-being.

Sam lifted his head and got a face-full of snow and wind. He hated the winter. He knew that Dean found some kind of beauty behind it. He'd seen Dean driving through snow covered forests before, had seen the look of wonder in Dean's eyes as he'd survey the glistening trees and falling snowflakes. Sam never understood it. Winter was cold and harsh and unrelenting, and now it was keeping him from his brother; something that Sam could never forgive.

He steeled himself against the biting wind and started off again. And stopped. With the snow swirling around him, Sam could barely make out what was on the ground. Crap. He bent forward and examined the ground, looking for a trace of red beneath the sheen of white. No luck. But he was running out of time now. How long had it been since Sam had been taken? Sam realized that he had stopped counting a while back, once he had discovered the blood soaked snow at the bottom of the hill.

He was panicking now. Dean couldn't have much time left. So Sam decided that he was just going to hope and pray that he found his brother in time. With that thought in mind, Sam chose a random direction and took off through the trees, weaving between their trunks. Abandoning all pretenses for stealth, Sam took a deep breath and shouted his brother's name. "Dean!"

Sam got no answer, but he wasn't expecting one anyway. The snow started falling faster, and Sam started running faster, too. He didn't know where he was going, he didn't know what he was doing. He only knew one thing; that he had to get to his brother. He had to. So Sam opened his mouth again and shouted, louder this time.

And then he felt it. He didn't know how, but he felt his brother. He veered right and there he was. Sam's eyes raked over his brother's haggard and bloodied body, from the bloody nose to his arm clenched around his waist, and then down to where the blood was dripping onto the snow. Wait. Sam's eyes widened in horror as he realized that his brother wasn't standing on snow, but ice. Ice that was splintering with ear splitting noise and then breaking. And Sam was running now, running and sprinting and trying to get to his brother, but both of them knew that he wouldn't make it.

Dean gave him a small smile, and was swallowed by the water. All Sam could do was run faster and scream louder. "DEAN!" Scream the one word that was the most important to him. The one word that mattered most in his entire world. The one word that he had cried, laughed, yelled, and shouted. The one word that Sam cared about more than any other. The one that was ripped out of Sam's throat now as he slipped and skidded across the ice, trying to get close to Dean but also not wanting to risk falling into the water himself. Dean, who hadn't resurfaced.

Finally getting to the jagged hole that his brother had disappeared into, Sam bent over and reached his hand into the freezing water. It came back empty. He grit his teeth against the cold and tried again with the same result. Sam cried out in frustration and sunk his arm in up to his neck, groping around in the black water. He was about to retreat and then dunk his whole body in, when he felt the brush of soft flesh beneath his hand. Sam let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, and let out a soft sob as Dean's hand, in turn, closed around Sam's.

Then he was pulling a gasping Dean out of the lake, who was coughing up water and choking on the brittle air. Sam's heart sank as he felt the ice slowly breaking around them. He didn't have time to check if his brother was alright, not when they were still in danger. So Sam made a split second decision and looped one arm under his brother's shoulders, the other under his knees, and he carried Dean, almost running, back to the shore.

Collapsing onto the snow, Sam immediately turned Dean over onto his back. He inhaled sharply as he got a glimpse of his brother's bloodsoaked shirt. He lifted it and gagged at the poor condition of the bullet wounds that Dean obviously hadn't bothered sewing up. It was then that Sam realized that Dean wasn't coughing anymore. He was lying limply on the snowy ground, not moving.

"Dean!" Sam's hands were on his neck now, shaking, but still trying to find a pulse. "No, no, no, Dean, please wake up, c'mon man."

Still no answer. Sam patted Dean's face, softly at first, then with more force. "Dean, don't do this to me. Please, please, please…" Using both hands, Sam cupped Dean's face and yelled louder, almost sobbing.

"S'm?" 

Sam's tears started flowing then, and he smiled down at his brother, who was alive. For now.

"Yeah, Dean. I'm here. I've got you."

"'M cold…" Sam's eyes widened and he immediately cursed himself for not trying to get Dean warmer sooner. Shrugging off both of their jackets, he quickly maneuvered Dean's stiff, cold arms into his own somewhat warm jacket. Dean moaned and winced in pain, and Sam kept up a string of apologies as he tried to decide what to do next.

"I've gotta get you back to the barn, Dean. I need to get you warm." Dean didn't answer and his eyes started fluttering shut. Sam's heart jumped and he shook his brother. "No, no, no, Dean you have to stay with me, you understand? Keep your eyes open. For me, Dean. For me." Dean grunted in pain, but listened to Sam. So Sam heaved his brother into his arms and set off at a staggering pace through the snowy woods.

He didn't know how long it took them to get back to the barn, but Sam knew that Dean had lost a lot of blood by then. For once he was glad that vampires still needed to sleep, and he dragged one of their makeshift beds into the center of the barn, then laying Dean on top of it. First things first, he had to get Dean warm. The barn was old, so Sam didn't have a problem finding pieces of walls and beams strewn all over the floor, and bringing them close to the bed. Building a small campfire, Sam held his breath and hoped that the damp wood would burn when lit. To his relief, it did, and he heard Dean shiver and sigh at the newfound warmth, but there were twinges of pain underneath the sounds. Sounds that hurt Sam deeper than he would ever admit.

Sam was at a loss now. The roads were snowed over, that much was obvious when Sam was driving a bloody Dean back to the barn. He couldn't risk driving to a hospital and getting stuck on the way. And there was no way that an ambulance would get to the barn in time. Dean wouldn't make it. Dean, whose eyes were shutting again. Sam lunged toward his brother and muffled a gasp at the blood that was still spreading around him. Oh god. He had to get the bullet wounds to stop bleeding.

Sam pulled away from Dean and turned towards the door, when he felt a hand on his sleeve. He swiveled around to look at his brother, who gazed at him through half closed lids. "Don' go, S'mmy." he whispered.

Gently prying Dean's hand from his wrist, Sam leaned in and whispered a promise to Dean that he'd come back. Dean nodded and leaned back into the bed. Sam set his jaw and ran out into the blinding white snow outside. He made it to the Impala and back in less than a minute, bringing with him the first aid kit. Laying it down at the foot of the bed, Sam started stripping his brother of his clothes. The groans and whimpers didn't escape Sam's notice, and he got increasingly worried as Dean didn't react to the first pinch of the needle.

Sam glanced at his brother's face every few seconds, as to reassure himself that Dean was still with him. Twice now Dean had slipped into unconsciousness, only waking up when Sam had shouted his name a number of times. Sam was in constant fear of losing his brother, keeping up a mantra of soothing words and questions that he didn't really expect Dean to answer.

When he was finally done, Sam glanced at his bloodstained hands and the now stained scarlet bedsheets. He hated this. He hated hunts that ended in his brother being hurt. He hated the gut-wrenching feeling he got when his brother was lying bruised and bloodied in front of him.

Dean let out a shuddering breath and coughed. And that's when Sam realized that Dean wouldn't last the night. He'd lost too much blood. It covered his hands, his clothes, the floor. It was everywhere. And Sam didn't know how to fix it.

Hands fumbling for his jacket pocket, Sam drew out his phone and tried dialing 911. Again. It was his fourth time now, and there still wasn't an answer. There wasn't an answer when he tried in the woods, there wasn't an answer when he tried near the car. There was no answer, no one to hear Sam's soft pleas for his brother to be ok.

Between silent prayers, Sam heard the scuffling of a rat in the attic. His head shot up. Stumbling to his knees, Sam scrambled to find the stairs. Although it wasn't that high, the attic might, just might, get him the least bit closer to a cell tower. It was a small chance. But Sam would take any chance he got.

The barn was three stories, and Sam was almost out of breath as he ran up the last few steps, ducking his head so that it wouldn't hit the ceiling beams of the attic.

Holding his breath, Sam dialed 911 and brought the phone to his ear. Please, please, please.

"This is 911, what's your emergency?"

Sam almost sobbed with relief.

"It's my brother. We were hunting in the woods and he got shot, twice, and he's lost a lot of blood and I don't know if he can- if he-"

"Sir, please tell us your location."

Sam took a deep breath and tried to remember all the research that had gotten them into this mess. He ranted off an address to the person on the other end of the phone, hoping it was the right one.

"The ambulance should arrive within the next 30-40 minutes. Just try to keep him warm, alright sir? The snowfall is heavy-"

Sam hung up. Thirty minutes. His head spun. Keep him warm. Keep Dean warm. He could do that.

Rushing back down the stairs, Sam scoured the barn for more wood, adding it to the flaming pile. Dean's tired eyes watched him, and Sam tried to stay calm and keep his tears at bay. For Dean.

"S'mmy?"

Sam was at Dean's side in an instant. He brushed Dean's hair back, and looked his brother over. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Dean simply opened his arms up and weakly gestured for Sam to get in the bed with him. Sam shook his head.

"I gotta keep you warm, Dean. I need more firewood. I need-"

Oh. It didn't occur to Sam how smart his brother was sometimes. Sam's body heat would help warm Dean up significantly. More than any fire would.

So, sniffing, Sam carefully edged himself onto the bed. Dean smelled like blood, and Sam hated it. He hated that he couldn't help his brother more. He hated everything and everyone and wanted to scream. Scream and cry and shout. But none of that would help Dean. The only thing that could was thirty minutes away. And even then, Dean might not make it.

And as his brother's arms closed around him, Sam broke. He buried his face in his brother's chest, body wracked with sobs. He wrapped his arms around Dean too, who let out a sigh of either relief or pain, Sam couldn't tell. He just clutched his brother and didn't let go.

They stayed like that for a while. Sam's sobs slowly turned into silent tears, his hands were fisted in his brother's shirt. Suddenly, he felt his brother's body go slack. Pulling back, Sam's eyes widened as he saw Dean's still, unmoving chest.

"Dean!" Sam took his brother's shoulders and shook him, not bothering to do so lightly. When that didn't work, Sam slapped his face. Still nothing.

"No! No, Dean, no. Please." Sam's cries were interrupted by the sound of a siren, and he saw flashing lights through the windows of the barn.

"Here!" He screamed. "We're in here! Please help!"

And then there were hands pulling him away from his brother for the second time today, and Sam thrashed and tried to get back to Dean, but the hands held fast.

Dean was put on a stretcher and rushed out and into an ambulance. Sam pressed himself in alongside Dean, snarling and growling at anyone who told him to leave.

The ride to the hospital didn't take nearly as much time as he'd thought, as the ambulance followed the tracks that it had already made. Dean was wheeled into a room that Sam fought tooth and nail to get into, and had to be restrained by at least six doctors before giving up.

So, Sam had no choice but to sit and wait. Wait for the doctor to tell him the news, be it good or bad. Wait to find out if his brother was alive. Wait and wait and wait. It could have been minutes, hours, weeks, years. Sam didn't know. Sam didn't care.

Until finally, finally, the doctor came out. And he was talking and explaining but all Sam heard were the words, "Your brother is alive." That's all he needed. Then he was pushing past the affronted looking man in white and into the room that held Dean. Dean, who was breathing and safe and alive. Dean, whose eyes were open and looking right at Sam.

Sam, who was so afraid that he'd never get to see the bright green of his brother's eyes again. Sam, who launched himself at Dean and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in his brother's neck.

"Don't you ever do that to me again."

Dean chuckled. "Missed me?"

Sam pulled back and lightly punched Dean in the chest, trying to get a hold of himself. "You scared me back there, jerk."

Dean's face sobered, and he winced slightly. "He was going to shoot you, Sam. What was I supposed to do?"

"Not jump in front of me, that's what!" 

Dean shook his head and looked at Sam with that big brother look that had Sam's tears starting all over again.

"I thought I lost you, Dean." Sam whispered, wiping at his face.

"Well, you didn't. And I'm not planning on leaving you anytime soon, Sammy." There was a pause, then Dean smiled and continued, "After all, a tall moose like you is a magnet for danger."

Sam let out a strangled laugh and placed his head on his brother's chest, listening to Dean breathe. It was a sound that Sam usually took for granted. Usually, but not now. Not when he had come so close to losing the thing that he loved most.

Not long after, Dean started running his fingers through Sam's hair, and Sam melted into his brother's warmth.

"I love you, Dean." He felt Dean stiffen beneath him. "I didn't think I'd get a chance to tell you that."

After a moment, Dean relaxed. He put his arm around Sam and whispered, "I love you, too."

And that's how the doctors found the two brothers; wrapped in each other's comfort. Together.


End file.
